


fires, headaches, and cuddling

by maiselocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fire, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft is a Softie, Reader-Insert, look i just love mycroft, sherlock catches 221b on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiselocked/pseuds/maiselocked
Summary: in which sherlock accidentally sets 221b baker street on fire and mycroft holmes offers to let you stay at his house.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Reader, Mycroft Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Mycroft Holmes/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 207





	fires, headaches, and cuddling

**Author's Note:**

> i think this might be one of my favorite works ever. like i love it so much. it's my baby.

It was a normal Friday as far as Fridays go at 221B Baker Street. 

The week had been pretty busy and a rather frightening criminal was caught not even a day ago by Sherlock, John, and yourself and you declared that Friday would be used as a day off. John immediately took to the idea, wanting to catch up on some errands he’d been putting off. Sherlock surprisingly liked the idea as well stating that he had a few experiments he wanted to try. 

So here you were, curled up in your armchair that was sat next to John and Sherlock’s, completely engrossed in the book you had just bought. 

In fact, you were so engrossed in said book that you had no idea what Sherlock was doing in the room across from you. You failed to notice the bunsen burner lit with a large flame on one corner of the table, the candle on the other corner, and the blowtorch in his hands. 

If anyone had noticed then the next few events wouldn’t have been a surprise. With one swift movement, Sherlock’s blue dressing gown flowed from behind him and managed to catch flame on the bunsen burner. He didn’t notice until the heat hit his leg. Sherlock quickly grabbed a damp towel and put out the gown but while doing so, knocked over the candle with the blowtorch in his hand. 

See, 221B was definitely not designed to have a wild, crime-solving consulting detective living in it hence why the fire spread rather quickly. He tried to throw the towel onto the flame but it was beginning to climb and he knew his efforts were futile. 

A few seconds later, the smell of smoke caught your attention and suddenly bright orange flames were in your line of sight. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock!” You shouted, jumping from the armchair. 

Sherlock somehow maneuvered around the flames till he was standing next to you. 

“Why are we just standing here?!” You yelled at him. That must’ve knocked some sense into him because then the two of you were racing out of 221B and onto the sidewalk outside. Mrs. Hudson was out that day, thankfully, but you knew that harsh words would come from her when she returned. 

When you safely reached the sidewalk, you called for the local fire station on your phone and sadly watched as the apartment you loved and called home slowly but surely became engulfed in flames. 

“What in the bloody _hell_ were you doing?” You asked Sherlock, giving him the strongest, scariest glare you could muster. He wrapped his dressing gown around him, not even paying attention to the still warm fabric, and looked at you. 

“Experiment,” was all he muttered. 

You rolled your eyes and walked a short distance away from him as a headache from the smoke began to hit. Crowds of people started to come out of apartments surrounding the building, curiosity strong. They knew who they lived next to and decided not to move away but you were sure they probably doubted that decision right now. 

Loud sirens started to come closer and closer to you and eventually, large trucks showed up and the firefighters jumped out, immediately getting to work to try and salvage whatever was left of 221B at that point. 

You just let out a sigh and sat down on the sidewalk. A wave of pain hit your head and you simply gave up and laid down, closing your eyes as Sherlock came to stand next to you. Even though the conditions were less than ideal, the headache made you tired and a very light sleep took over you. 

\--

“How’d you manage this, brother mine?” were the first words you heard as you woke up from your half-sleep. You automatically recognized the voice as Mycroft Holmes, brother of Sherlock and the entire British Government. Your ears turned red out of embarrassment because you knew he was probably silently judging your unconscious state on the sidewalk dressed in sweatpants and a large t-shirt. 

If you were being truthful, you had a very odd attraction to the older Holmes. Rather it was air of superiority and professionalism or the rare soft side you had only seen a total of two times (once was when you had wished him a happy birthday in-person and the other was when he had done the same for you but gifted you a beautiful necklace), you didn’t know. 

An involuntary groan came out of you as you finally came to, rising from the sidewalk that was giving you a pain in your neck. The Holmes brothers and John both looked down at you. John squatted down to your level and looked you over with sympathetic eyes. 

“Do you feel okay?” He asked like a doctor giving you a check-up. 

You mumbled out that your head hurt and let out a yawn after that. 

“Yeah, you probably inhaled some smoke. Drink some of this water,” he said, handing you a tiny water bottle he got from the firefighters. You gratefully accepted the water and almost chugged it all before you remembered that Mycroft was watching you attentively. 

John fumbled around in his pocket for two pills and handed them to you. You figured they were for the headache and took them with a large swig of water. 

“See what your silly experiments do, Sherlock?” Mycroft scolded his little brother. For years he had told him time and time again that he needed to be more careful with his experiments, even gave him high-tech, high-performance lab safety gear only for Sherlock to throw it away. And now, as he saw you with tired eyes, chugging water, and John checking you for any other injuries, he was sure to really drill Sherlock. “Where will you sleep and live now?” 

When his brother only responded with a shrug, he rubbed his temples. As if it wasn’t stressful enough that Sherlock’s apartment was nowhere near livable at the current point in time, he also was worried about you. Mycroft didn’t know what it was about you but he always felt such a strong urge to protect you, to give you gifts, show his appreciation for you, see you, talk to you, just be in your vicinity. He had never felt that before for anyone and it was beginning to keep him up at night. 

“I suppose you can stay with me for the time-being. As long as you don’t clutter anything up,” he said, adding on the last sentence mainly for Sherlock. 

A firefighter came over and started to speak to John, leaving you alone on the sidewalk until Mycroft came up and offered his hand to help you up. “Come on, you can sit in the car while Dr. Watson speaks with these men.” 

You took his hand that was rather soft and pulled yourself up. He led you to to the open car and made sure you were sat down before going back to Sherlock who was watching him with scrutinizing eyes. 

“You care for her,” Sherlock blatantly stated. 

Mycroft was caught off guard for just a small moment. “I just simply wish to know Y/N is healthy after this ordeal,” he said emotionless. 

“You should let her sleep in your bed.”

“Why would I do such a thing?” 

“She obviously has a crush on you and you do as well. Even John took notice.” 

“I do not have something so childlike. I think she’d prefer to sleep in her own bed anyways.” 

“Y/N!” Sherlock called out to get your attention. 

“Yeah?” You said back. 

“Do you feel comfortable sleeping in Mycroft’s bed?” 

“I don’t care whose bed I sleep in.”

John came back over from speaking with a firefighter and sensed the weird air that was surrounding the trio, specifically Sherlock and Mycroft. “Did I miss something?” 

“No,” the Holmes brothers responded simultaneously. They walked off and got into the black car Mycroft had taken there. John shook his head at their usual irritating selves but followed after them nonetheless. 

Mycroft had somehow ended up in the seat next to you and the sheer closeness of your bodies made him excited. His knee would occasionally bump into yours on curves and turns and each time he could’ve started buzzing with energy. 

Whereas Mycroft was relishing in the feeling of being so close to you, you were nervous as hell. You knew you probably didn’t smell decent, your hair was unbrushed and messy, and your face was likely oily, dirty, and tired-looking. Whenever you were around Mycroft, it just felt like you had to be better and act better. You straighten your posture, smooth your skirt out, pop a mint in your mouth, etc., etc.. He had never seen you so...relaxed and natural but he liked it. It almost gave him a rush, seeing what you would look like if you were to wake up next to him in the morning. 

Before Mycroft’s thoughts got out of hand, the driver slowed to a stop outside of a traditional style mansion. You had never been in or seen Mycroft’s home but you found that it suited him and was exactly what you pictured his house to look like. The driver came around and opened up the door. Mycroft extended his hand to you again that you took and released once you got out of the car. For a moment, you noticed his fingers seemed to linger on the spot that you had just touched but brushed it off. 

The four of you made your way up to Mycroft’s front door that he swiftly unlocked and opened. A soft, clean smell mixed with a bit of pine came to your nose upon entering his house and your eyes scanned everything you could see. 

It was incredibly clean and you figured he had some sort of maids or other cleaning service keep it that way. The only semblance of anyone living there came from the abandoned newspaper and cup of tea that had long since went cold after he left for Baker Street. 

Mycroft was paying attention to your reactions to everything in his home. He could tell you enjoyed the clean, vintage, classic design of his home and greatly appreciated it. A fleeting thought of living in his home with you came to his mind. 

“You have a nice place,” John spoke up. Mycroft slipped off his coat and suit jacket to hang on the coat rack and placed his umbrella in an ornate tall vase. 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said softly. It was awkward having John and Sherlock seemingly float throughout his home but when he looked at you, he felt calm, like you fit in, like you were meant to be there. Silently, he thanked whoever had placed you in his home and in his life. He liked the hope and light you brought to his usually dull days. 

“There are two guest bedrooms upstairs. Y/N, you can sleep in my bed. I can sleep on the couch,” Mycroft said. You looked at him with a confused look. 

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” the words came out of your mouth before you could consider the conditions and possible consequences of having Mycroft sleep next to you. 

“It’s okay, truthfully. I don’t sleep much anyways. Wouldn’t you enjoy some privacy?” 

“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch. That’s uncomfortable.”

“Says the one who fell asleep on concrete not even an hour ago.”

“...Touche.” 

Mycroft very lightly chuckled. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded with a small smile that he returned. Sherlock and John watched the interaction from the top of the stairway. “50 pounds they’ll wake up cuddling each other,” John whispered to Sherlock. 

“It’s a useless bet, John. You know that’s what will happen.” 

Sherlock and John snickered and walked off to their own guest bedrooms. Mycroft came out of his dazed reverie and took you upstairs to his room. 

“Do you wish to take a shower or change?” He asked, noticing your rather not-so-clean state. 

“I’d love to get out of these clothes. They smell horrible,” you said, scrunching up your nose in a way that Mycroft thought was absolutely adorable. 

He opened the doors to his walk in closet that you gawked at. It was filled with ironed and steamed suits that probably cost more than you had ever spent in your whole life. You watched as he opened a drawer and pulled out two sets of satin pinstripe pajamas; one for him and one for you. 

“I apologize if they don’t fit. They’re the only pajamas I own.”

“Anything is better than this.”

He walked out of the closet and took you to the bathroom for you to change and clean off a little. After stripping off your sweatpants and shirt and slipping into the very comfortable pajamas, you found a brush laying on the countertop and ran it through your hair. You washed your face and gurgled some mouthwash before returning to the bedroom. Mycroft was hanging up the clothes he had on, wearing his pajamas. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with sleeping in the same bed? I have no issue sleeping on the couch,” Mycroft asked. He was really hoping you would allow him to sleep in the bed with you and he breathed a sigh of relief when you said yes that didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m going to do a few things before coming to bed. Feel free to make yourself comfortable and go to sleep.” 

It wasn’t even a minute after Mycroft left that you settled into his bed that smelled of his cologne and fell asleep. 

About twenty minutes later, Mycroft came back and found you curled under his blankets, hair sprawled around your head in intricate swirls, and nose pushed into his reserved pillow. His heart swelled and the softest of looks came to his face. He knew right then and there that maybe Sherlock wasn’t entirely wrong when he said he had a crush on you. But who could blame him? 

He didn’t walk any closer to the bed and just took in the sight of you in his bed like you belonged there, like it had always been yours. 

Mycroft wasn’t a sentimental man by no means but it seemed he had found one person who was able to melt his heart just a little. He would deal with the consequences of feeling that way for another person later but right now, he just wanted to look at you and be with you. 

Eventually he crawled into bed slowly, careful not to wake you even though he could tell there’d be no way to wake you from your close to comatose state. He turned to his side so he could face you and have you be the last thing he sees before he falls asleep. 

\--

“Look at ‘em,” John said, highly amused at the sight before him. Sherlock was standing next to him, just as amused if not happy. “It’s a little cute, I have to admit.” 

Sherlock slipped his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of Mycroft and Y/N, muttering something under his breath about blackmail. 

In Mycroft’s bed, the two of you were cuddling. If John and Sherlock didn’t know any better, they would’ve thought the two of you were a couple. It surely looked like it. 

You were tucked underneath Mycroft’s chin, head nuzzled into the spot between his chest and neck. One of his arms was draped around your waist, the other softly holding the back of your head. At some point in the middle of the night, you had drifted closer together and Mycroft would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t awake when you pushed yourself up close to his body, relishing in the warmth. 

A smirk came to Sherlock’s face not because he had new material to tease Mycroft about but because he felt some kind of happiness knowing his older brother had found someone after years of thinking he would always be alone.


End file.
